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When I’m Ninety, She’ll Be Fifty.


Yesterday I was at the gym. A woman I know from racing was there. Somehow we started talking about her father and how he suffered from Alzheimer’s and passed away at the age of 90.

 

There were many thoughts in my head. Alzheimer’s sucks; losing a parent sucks no matter what age; and wonderment – how old was she that her father was ninety?

 

She is super fit, with beautiful skin and a lovely smile – so it was hard to guess her age. Turns out, she is 51. That means her dad was forty when she was born.

 

IMG_5184I was forty when my last baby, Fiona was born.

 

If I live to ninety, my Fiona will be only fifty years old. She might have a few kids, a house, maybe she is a world traveller – but mostly she will still be very young and I will be unequivocally very old.

 

This was my daily smack in the head – a reminder to live well, live passionately and love always. Time is a funny bed fellow – unrelenting, pervasive and perpetual; best not to waste it doing things you don’t like. Feel love, give love, be passionate ~ Happy Slice everyone.

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